


I Want To Be Yours

by yossarian359



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Mutual Masturbation, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Widowmaker, Top Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 15:45:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13814343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yossarian359/pseuds/yossarian359
Summary: Widowmaker has a problem: Ever since Tracer tried to distract her with a kiss, she can’t stop thinking about the foolish little girl.She wants more, and she’s going to take it—but Tracer may be thinking of a few things as well.





	I Want To Be Yours

If there was one universal truth, it was that Widowmaker did not need to justify _anything_ to _anyone_. The world’s most deadly assassin did _not_ need justify her decision to spend her off time in London _stalking_ Tracer, or the fact she was following Tracer while she was on a date. She didn’t need to justify anything! Especially not to _herself_.

 

The last person who questioned her choices to the point of irritation ended up in a _very_ unfortunate situation involving a grappling hook and a very tall building.

 

Only Sombra had the _gall_ to be an annoying _little_ _shit_ ; constantly teasing her about her _non existent_ relationship with Tracer. She’d have to teach Sombra a lesson one day.

 

Widowmaker had only kissed Tracer _once_ , and it was to distract her from the objective!

 

Tracer wasn’t the only one distracted that evening; Widowmaker couldn’t shake the feeling of Tracer’s soft warm lips; she tasted so _sweet_. She turned the taste around and around on her tongue, savouring every ounce of flavour she got from her full lips. Next time _,_ she would linger there longer and fully savour the sight of Tracer’s rich brown pupils turn black as they dilate while drinking in the sight of the delicious red blush spreading across freckled cheeks.

 

She’d never admit it, but for Widowmaker, stealing only one kiss from Tracer’s lips _wasn’t_ enough—not nearly enough.

 

Seeing her having dinner with a young, demure woman was not _pleasant_.

 

Widowmaker wasn’t _jealous,_ she did not _get_ jealous. That _slow burn_ feeling much like an expensive cigarette in her stomach was _not_ jealousy.

 

If Widowmaker _wanted_ Tracer, she could get her _easily_ —at least that’s what she told herself. _If that blonde-haired_ slut _can capture her attention so can I._

 

Tracer liked the pretty ones, and Widowmaker was nothing if not deadly and beautiful. Apparently, this one wasn’t much to Tracer’s liking. Judging from the expression on her face, her date wasn’t looking too sharp. Pretty, but _empty-headed._

 

Widowmaker couldn’t help but smirk. _Perhaps your taste in women is not so bad after all_ _chérie_ _._

 

The smile was wiped from her face when she noticed Tracer’s discomfort, clear as day, that the other woman was oblivious too.

 

Something strange washed over her; a _feeling_. It was territorial, fiery but prideful, appreciative but _defensive?_ _Ah,_ she thought, _possessiveness._

 

Of course, it wasn’t justified.

 

Tracer wasn’t _hers_ , but then again, Widowmaker didn’t need to justify _anything_ to _anyone_.

 

She saw movement, Tracer excused herself, apologising profusely and putting down a generous share of cash for the bill before quickly leaving.

 

Widowmaker would never admit the relief that flooded her veins. She felt a sudden urge to follow her. Bitter musky taste flooded her mouth as she look a sip of red wine. _Mmm, not bad, for English._ Her eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to her Tracer’s tight behind as she walked with a brisk pace, “Not bad at all.” She hummed.

 

She wanted to follow her, but _why?_ She felt something from watching Tracer, like little sparks in her chest. No explanation was provided; the only thing apparent was that she _wanted_ more, and Widowmaker would _get_ what she wanted. Maybe that’s why she had been trailing Tracer all vacation.

 

She _wanted her_.

 

So what was stopping her?

 

With the grace of a dancer, she moved to where Tracer was heading and intercepted her.

 

“Date gone sour, _chérie_ _?_ ” Widowmaker purred, leaning casually against a wall.

 

Tracer did a double take, hair almost standing on end at the sound of that sultry French accent. “Bloody you! What are—” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper, realising she was shouting. “The fuck are _you_ doing here?” She said, taking a defensive posture and raising her arms to guard her chest.

 

Widowmaker would’ve rolled her eyes if she weren't so amused at the tiny woman’s cute posturing. “Relax petite _idiote,_ I’m not here to kill you.”

 

“Uh huh.” Tracer almost growled.

 

 _Foolish girl._ “If I wanted to kill you, _chérie,_ you wouldn’t hear the bullet.”

 

Others would’ve flinched after hearing those words coming from the world's deadliest assassin standing right in front of them. Some would’ve backed off in silent terror.

 

Tracer simply scoffed, “Pffft, _right._ So all that shooting at me on rooftops, that just you having fun, yeah?”

 

“Yes, you’d be correct.”

 

Her eyes widened, “Wha—?”

 

“You’re too _fun_ to kill, _chérie,_ ” Widowmaker hummed, “I have much more _exciting_ things in store for you.”

 

“Woah!” Tracer stumbled, “Okay, first off: bit creepy, love. Secondly, _fun_ ? You don’t have fun!” What do you mean by _fun_? Oh my god,” She stepped away and started pacing, “This is so _weird_ , you’re weird you—strange… _Spider!_ ” Tracer struggled to find insults. Widowmaker’s lips curled, it was cute.

 

Tracer took a breath and started walking, Widowmaker followed, “Alright, start again: you haven’t answered my question, what are you doing here, and _why_ are you stalking me?

 

“You flatter yourself, _chérie_ , I am not stalking you,” She lied, “and you haven’t answered my question. That _girl_ was pretty, but not to your liking.” Widowmaker flicked her a sidelong glance.

 

A low huff escaped Tracer’s lips, her body sagging with her sigh, “Win some you lose some, and that girl was definitely at a loss. Pretty, well fit, but just sorta well, you know...” She trailed off.

 

Widowmaker hummed, “You’re looking for love in all the wrong places.”

 

“I’m not taking dating advice from someone called _Widowmaker_ , thank you _very_ much. And wait, what do you mean?” Tracer came to a dead stop outside the door of an apartment block; _hers_ , Widowmaker judged.

 

Widowmaker turned to face her, taking two steps forward, “I mean that the blonde-haired harlot did not know what she was missing.”

 

Tracer twitched her head, not sure she heard correctly. “Wait, hang on, are you _jealous,_ love?”

 

Widowmaker scoffed, but Tracer didn’t miss the slight purple blush that graced her cheeks, “I do _not_ get jealous.”

 

“Yeah right.” Slyness crept into her voice as she giggled. “Was the kiss really _that_ good?” The purple darkened and Tracer couldn't help but laugh more, propelled by the confidence. “I think you have a slight crush, love.” She winked.

 

There was that _feeling_ again, something stirring inside Widowmaker—her little _annoyance_ brought it out with those warm beaming eyes, those grinning pink lips _so kissable._

 

Widowmaker didn’t hesitate any further and pinned Tracer to the wall, hands landing either side of her pretty face.

 

A sharp breath escaped Tracer’s lips. “Ohh.” She was winded from the impact, but also from the sudden close proximity of Widowmaker. Her perfume was lilac, rich, and _intoxicating._ She could feel her body pressed against her, “Woah there, love,” Tracer murmured, catching her breath, “Could at least take me to dinner first.”

 

“Shut up.” Her breath painted Tracer’s lips as she leaned in.

 

Just before their lips met, Tracer turned away and denied her the contact. It would’ve taken someone very perceptive to notice the shattered disheartenment on Widowmaker’s face; Tracer with her countless hours of experience on the battlefield, was nothing if not aware—you had to be to stay alive.

 

“You really want this don’t you?” Despite the playful tone, Tracer spoke with a careful edge.

 

Widowmaker felt desperately cold all of a sudden, something scratching inside of her. “ _Oui,_ ” Her voice was breathless, “More than you could know.”

 

Tracer’s bright eyes searched for hers tentatively, now fully serious. “What brought this on?”

 

“Watching you—existing,” She struggled to find the words, “It made me _feel_ … So yes, I want this, to feel _you_ . More than I’ve wanted anything.”

 _Anything._ Widowmaker saw something ignite in Tracer.

 

“ _Oh_ —wow,” Tracer murmured. “Don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before, love. You must _really_ like me.”   

 

Widowmaker smiled, her senses drinking in Tracer’s reaction. “Do I take you breath away, chérie _?_ ” She asked, lips a cautious distance away. Despite her new confidence fueled by Tracer’s flushed reaction, she was afraid of being denied again.

 

Tracer noticed this and didn’t give her time to hesitate further. She leaned forward and brought her lips to Widowmaker’s.

 

At last Widowmaker tasted her lips again, it was better than she remembered. Her eyes fluttered shut; completely absorbed in the sensation of Tracer’s soft lips moving against hers.

 

“Does that answer your question, love?” Tracer panted when she pulled back. Widowmaker opened her eyes and saw her flushed to the neck, chest subtly falling and rising with her paced breathing, gaze dark with desire. Widowmaker didn’t hold back a second time.

 

She clasped the back of Tracer’s head, the short hair on the back of her neck prickling under Widowmaker’s fingers as they brought their lips together to meet in a fiery kiss.

 

They were pressed up against the door to her apartment and Tracer tried to fish her keys out of her skintight back pocket desperately. Widowmaker heard the metal clinking and reached into to assist, stealing a generous feel of her ass while pressing her body against hers. Tracer mewled, and Widowmaker licked her way into her mouth.

 

The door swung open and they fell into a heap on the floor, with Widowmaker straddling Tracer’s hips.

 

“Might wanna wait until we’re upstairs before you jump on me, love,” Tracer giggled, “Could cause a scene.”

 

“Other women would be terrified about bringing an assassin into their home.” Widowmaker’s voice was low and hungry, feeding the fire within the woman beneath her.

 

Tracer’s swollen lips curled as she smiled, “Well, I’m not like other women. Besides, I’m sure you know where I sleep.”

 

It was true, she did. Widowmaker knew even before she developed this _fascination_ . Talon had marked Tracer as a ‘person of interest’ and needless to say Widowmaker found her _very_ interesting.

 

There were times that Talon had marked Tracer as a priority target; the one time she had been _ordered_ to eliminate her, she never made a serious attempt to kill. She would only kill her _prey_ once she was satisfied she couldn’t extract any more enjoyment from them. Seeing Tracer with a coy but knowing look on her face as she led Widowmaker up to her apartment, she _knew_ that she would _never_ get bored of Tracer; Talon be damned.

 

Everything about Tracer stoked that burning sensation in Widowmaker’s core, that feeling of _more_ than alive. She wanted to _devour_ her; to bury herself inside of Tracer and have her again and _again_ until she could do nothing but scream her name.

 

As soon as the door locked behind them Widowmaker was on her in an instant, reverently kissing every inch of skin Tracer bared to her, trailing down the soft pulse points down her sensitive neck.

 

A small whine escaped Tracer’s lips as she was pushed down onto the mattress. Just as Widowmaker was ready to pounce on her, Tracer lifted her feet to stop her.

 

“Slow down, love,” Her voice was playful but also kind, letting her know Widowmaker’s attention wasn’t unwelcome. Tracer stretched on the bed, arms reaching above her head, causing her tight shirt to ride up and expose her soft stomach, “Tell me what you want.”

 

“You,” Widowmaker was impatient, already ridding herself of her coat and hair tie while her long dark hair fell like an elegant wave down her back, “I want you.”

 

Tracer’s mouth parted as Widowmaker removed her shirt, revealing the soft toned lines of her body.

 

“I want you to be _mine_.” Widowmaker’s eyes glinted as she pounced on her, ravishing Tracer’s neck and chest, avoiding the cool metal of the accelerator while planting lipstick stains and marks that stirred that feeling of possessiveness inside her. Widowmaker was ready to tear her shirt off, freeing Tracer to her roving hands.

 

Suddenly she found herself on her back and staring up at Tracer’s hungry gaze. “You want me to be yours, _pet_?” She reached behind her and unbuckled the accelerator, placing it gently down on the bedside table. This time it was Widowmaker’s turn to be speechless as Tracer divested herself of her shirt and bra, exposing her breasts.

 

The urge to touch, to run her hands up her slender frame and feel Tracer’s soft smooth skin contrasted by the rough texture of her tempting pink nipples, it overwhelmed Widowmaker. Tracer caught the wandering hands before they could steal a touch and pinned them over her head.

 

Widowmaker made a pleading noise in her throat, helpless under her. Truth be told, she didn’t expect Tracer to be this _dominating_ in the bedroom. In her fantasies, Tracer was the one caught in her web. Never had she imagined that she’d be the one underneath _her_. Being at her mercy however, was _exhilarating._

 

Tracer leaned in and dragged her sharp teeth over her sensitive neck, stopping to nibble at points that made her squirm. “I think you want something else as well,” Her smile turned sly, “Did you ever watch me?” She bit her lower lip as Widowmaker’s face darkened with a blush.

 

What did she feel? Was it shame? Embarrassment? It couldn’t be, the feeling excited her.

 

“Naughty girl,” Tracer laughed, “I had a feeling you’d seen these before.” She ghosted her fingers over her breasts, fingertips grazing at her pebbled nipples. Widowmaker whimpered, envious of the touch.

 

“Did you _touch_ yourself?” Tracer asked, voice coy. Widowmaker writhed beneath her and arched her hips, desperate for the slightest touch.

 

“ _Oui_.” She managed, Tracer smirked.

 

“Show me,” Tracer purred, leaving the bed to lean her bare back against the cool wall, “Show me how you got off to me,” Tracer arched her back, giving Widowmaker a full view of her breasts as she made a show in taking a stiff nipple between her thumb and index finger, pinching and pulling roughly, “Then let me make you come,” She gasped, “And I’ll be yours, pet.”

 

Widowmaker’s body came alive with her words, stripping off the rest of her clothes till she lay naked on the bed. Her hand stretched to dip down between her legs and she moaned. She made small movements and circles with her hand as she rubbed her clit. Tracer didn’t miss how wet she was.

 

“Like what you see, _chérie_?” Widowmaker gasped between ragged breaths.

 

“Yes,” Tracer panted, “ _Fucking_ gorgeous.”

 

Widowmaker responded by slipping two digits into her cunt. “— _Oh_ ,” She softly cried out as she touched herself.

 

Tracer was mesmerised, her lower lip white between her teeth and idly moving her hands over her body down to her own entrance. She greedily ate up the sight of the patient sniper losing it under the practiced ministrations of her own hand. “Yeah, just like that, love. You look so _beautiful_.” The sight was _intoxicating_. Her own arousal threatened to drip down her thighs, the desperate ache between her legs begging to be touched.

 

Widowmaker’s breathing quickened as she saw Tracer hand move against the dark curls above her folds, teasing to relieve the tantalising ache between her thighs. She moved her free hand to grope her breast and her body arched into the heated contact.

 

Her moans grew louder, hips rolling to meet her fingers as she fucked herself on her hand with abandon. She was lost in the sensation of being filled and she imagined that Tracer’s fingers were moving inside her instead of her own. “Tracer.” Widowmaker whimpered.

 

Something snapped in Tracer and she crossed the room in a lightning fast motion, grabbed Widowmaker’s wrist and moved her hand away from her core. Widowmaker nearly cried at the loss of contact, but her disappointment died as she took two of Widowmaker’s fingers deep into her mouth as she sucked up the arousal, cheeks hollow. The fingers left her mouth with an almost obscene pop as Tracer licked her lips, showing her appreciation.

 

Tracer kissed her way down Widowmaker body, laving the skin with her tongue before sucking harshly, leaving marks on soft skin.

 

She moved her lips to her inner thigh, teasing sensitive skin. Her expert lips pressing over tendon that lead to her pelvis and she was rewarded with a shudder that ran down her body.

 

Widowmaker arched her back. “Please, Tracer...”

 

“Lena,” She whispered, “My name is Lena.” Her voice was soft, a silent question hidden in her words.

 

“Lena.” Widowmaker tested the name on her tongue, then cried it out as Lena pressed the flat of her tongue against her entrance.

 

“Lena!” Her hands cupped the back of her head, pressing Lena’s face into her dark folds, desperate for the rough wet feeling of Lena’s tongue inside her.

 

Her skin was sweat slicked, her heart racing. Everything felt too warm, too hot _,_ but _oh_ so right.

 

Widowmaker rolled her hips, body undulating to meet the scorching sensation of Lena’s skilled tongue moving between her legs.

 

Lena wrapped her arms around Widowmaker’s hips and stomach as they arched high off the bed, keeping them locked in place as she pleasured her. The sight of Widowmaker losing control under her tongue was almost enough to make Lena come.

 

“Oh fuck—,” Lena gasped, replacing her mouth with deft fingers rubbing against her, slipping them into her core. “Did you ever imagine this, love?” She asked, “That’d I’d find you knuckle deep in your own _cunt_ as you whined my name?” Widowmaker’s body was shuddering, she was _close._ Lena slipped another finger in, “Did you imagine me fucking you like I’m doing now? Making you _mine._ ” She bobbed her head down and sucked her clit.

 

The sensation of Lena’s lips around her bud while slender fingers filled her was _too much_.

 

“Merde,” English escaped her mind as she came, “ _Baise-moi Lena,_ _Je suis ta petite pute!”_ Her whole body spasmed and shuddered, thighs clenching around Lena’s head as she rode out her pleasure against Lena’s face and tongue.  

 

Her head was light when her orgasm finally subsided, Lena moved up and brought their mouths together for a slow kiss.

 

“Satisfied?” Lena asked. Tasting her arousal on Lena’s lips reignited the fire inside Widowmaker.

 

She replied by pushing Lena back.

 

Lena grinned and bit her lower lip as she landed near noticeables wet patches staining the bed where her cunt had been moments before. “Oh?”

 

“I’ll never be done with you, chérie,” Widowmaker said, voice heavy with lust,” You can’t escape me so easily.”

 

“Well then, _pet,_ ” Lena took Widowmaker’s hand, toying with her fingers, “I think you deserve a reward. After all, you were such a good girl—” Lena brought Widowmaker’s calloused fingers down to fall over her opening and whispered into her ear, “I wanna be yours.”

 

Widowmaker didn’t need to be told twice.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to those who helped me and put up with me angsting over this fic :D


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